


A Lettenhove always gets what he wants

by Hagebutt



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Geralt is so so dumb, M/M, sex work (mentioned), victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagebutt/pseuds/Hagebutt
Summary: Getting into marriage doesn't always mean the end of your troubles; in a lot of the times, it means the beginning of them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	A Lettenhove always gets what he wants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnaBookWorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaBookWorm/gifts).



> Here it comes; I tried to do the story of an arranged marriage with a twist, while still holding on some of the tropes of the genre. Hopefully my work will please the giftee!

Great impatience lingered through the air, as the citizens of the city of Oxenfurt awaited and anticipated an answer to their question: Who would become the new witcher in the service of their city? Over the course of centuries, this particular post has evolved from a despised craft, suitable only for marginalized renegades and vagrants, to a highly esteemed job associated with a well-paid office at the town hall and a similarly well-paid honoris causa post at the university. Especially the university post offered a renown and an overall good social reputation. 

And because of all this, the curiosity grew not only among the professional circles or in the faculty of science (especially the monster field, to which the city witcher belonged as an external lecturer), but also among the crowd of rich, aristocratic families interested in two things only – whether the new witcher was single or not, and if so, would he be willing to marry their child? 

And the House of the Lettenhoves was no exception. 

“… it is high time he stopped with that,” said Julian’s mother, just when he was entering the room.

“Who? And with what?” inquired Julian (only called by that name at home) immediately.

“You,” grumbled his father,” with that never-ending fickleness of yours.”

“But father – mother!” Julian was desperate. He was satisfied student life, replete with playing the lute and various encounters, exactly as it was. 

“We came to the conclusion that you should get married before your unfortunate heart falls for the wrong one, “said his mother kindly. 

Julian’s heart fell in love twice a week on average, and it fell out of love just as fast. He didn’t worry about that.

“You’re old enough, educated and handsome, my dear boy, Julian-“ his mother gently stroke his cheek, “now is the right time. Especially with this opportunity!” 

“What opportunity?” Julian moaned. So they already have decided! And now they were going to force him to marry some powerful, rich old man. Could they stop their scheming at least for once?

“The new city witcher would make a great match for the Lettenhoves,” said his father.

“The new city witcher, you say?” Julian frowned. “Is he at least a bit younger than the last one? Or else I’d be worried that his heart might stop working right after the wedding night.”

“Do not talk like this in front of your mother,” scolded him his father, while his mother put a handkerchief delicately in front of her mouth. “Master Vesemir was an aged man. No, the new one is young and yet unmarried. A perfect match. We have to get him before the Marxs do; I hope that is clear to you.” 

Julian imagined how immensely puffed up would his classmate Valdo Marx be, if he “captured” such a match for himself and it brought to life an old Lettenhove instinct within him: to always get what he wants, no matter what. 

“I will do what you deem appropriate,” he said firmly. He’d have to get married someday anyway, so why not now? 

And when the newly employed witcher first entered their house, Julian was excited: he longed madly for the attractive, strong man with yellow eyes and a silver-forged stick. 

"Geralt of Rivia," their butler introduced him. His parents rose from the table with a carefully prepared feast and shook the witcher’s hand. He greeted them and sat down on a small chair. In the ornament-decorated lounge, he stuck out like a sore thumb in his festive black leather armor, and Julian heart has already decided to adore him for that.

He honestly thought the meeting would be a disaster, because his parents would not want to give their sweetheart to someone who was obviously not suitable for them, but, luckily Geralt of Rivia _(Geralt of Rivia!)_ enchanted them with his aura of silent charm and competence. The father was nodding contentedly, his mother was smiling and offering more and more cakes, and Julian, who had to act as if he didn't even know what the event was about, could barely sit in his chair.

As Geralt's courtesy visit drew to an end, Julian abruptly exclaimed, "Mother, Father, would you mind if I accompanied our guest to the hall?"

And as soon as they came out the door, he started talking. And went on and on. "You have to visit a lot of houses, huh? Do you like the admiration? And where do they have the best cookies? I bet it wasn't with the Marxes. How many monsters have you killed? If you choose me, I will compose songs celebrating your acts. I'm quite famous; does the name Jaskier mean anything to you? That's my real name. The dinner was pretty boring, wasn't it? But I'll be pleased to see you again," he blushed.

Geralt was silent all the time, but he smiled, made a silent 'hmm' sound, and looked at Jaskier with something that seemed like interest in his eyes.

It was on the fourth visit to the Lettenhoves, on a cold day, when the withered roses with thorns began to cover with ice and the first snow crunched under the witcher's heavy boots when Geralt finally spoke. He finished his tea, set the fragile cup, which was almost lost in his huge palm, on a saucer, and said:

"I decided to ask for your permission to marry your son."

It was very brief, but it was enough for Lettenhoves, and Jaskier, who just squirmed over his tea and lowered his eyes, later jumped enthusiastically on his large soft bed and produced sounds unworthy of an engaged gentleman.

The wedding was expensive, but the Lettenhoves didn't mind; everyone, from the youngest granddaughter still learning to walk, to the oldest elder, already unable to walk without a cane, decided that the wedding would become their greatest flex. They chose the most beautiful temple and the best inn in Oxenfurt and invited who they could, of course, mostly to enjoy their envious faces.

Jaskier's heart was pounding like a bell as he stood directly beneath the statue of the Melitelé, watching his future husband make thunderous steps closer. A medallion swayed on the witcher’s chest, and its reflections gleamed in Jaskier's eyes. It was a big, glorious day. Geralt could have looked a little more excited, but Jaskier told himself it must’ve been a necessity for Geralt to maintain his professional appearance.

The wedding night could also have been a little more enthusiastic… overall. Jaskier was very confident in his abilities, so he was touched - no, he was offended! - that Geralt showed no signs of a desire for a closer encounter, he only turned on his side and fell asleep. Would you believe it?! Did he even know what marriage entailed? Was he raised by wolves or what?

And the bad thing was, that it wasn't getting better. Jaskier was angry. After all, that was one of the reasons he had so willingly agreed to marriage - he was looking forward to what it would be like to have this beautiful, muscular guy on his back so he could, finally, roll in a hay with him. But his new husband was always busy in the first place, and when he got home, he continued being busy with reading essays or writing articles and letters, and not going to bed until Jaskier was half asleep. Every. Time.

In the end, Jaskier couldn't stand it anymore and decoded to visit a sorceress for some advice. And luckily for him, Triss Merigold was his old acquaintance. They’ve met a few years ago in a pub, when they performed a light-hearted singing competition together. And since then she had helped him a few times (for example with lice) – while he had given her attention and expensive little things.

"Triss, darling," he stormed into her large room on the second floor of one of the nicest houses on the Oxenfurt Square. "I’m in trouble! You won't tell anyone, will you?”

"I don't even know what the trouble is!" Triss laughed. "What, your husband can’t get it up?"

"Even worse!" Jaskier shouted melodramatically. "He hasn't even touched me yet!"

"Oh no!" Triss pressed her hand to her mouth, similarly melodramatic. “I swear I won’t tell a living soul about this. What exactly do you need me to help you with? A love potion?”

"Could you find out what’s causing it?" Jaskier said. "Before I pour him some random brew, I want to know if it has a logical cause. Maybe he’s exclusively into women after all!"

They both giggled at such a thought. "And apart from that?" Triss asked.

Jaskier smiled dreamily. "He is so handsome. Sometimes I watch him in the morning as our maid puts him in his armor, and you'd pass out from such view.… Every now and then the courier would bring a little thing for me - flowers or a dessert… from him… And his academic articles are terribly boring,” he laughed, “but at the same time they are so clever. I think he likes me, he doesn't mind when I walk around the house at nine in the evening and strum various melodies on my lute, but sometimes he just behaves weirdly. "

"I'll find out," Triss promised, "you know me, quickly and discreetly."

They spoke for a while about various gossip, and then Jaskier went home, a little calmer.

All his composure disappeared when Triss sent him a small envelope, cursed against opening by anyone other than the addressee. After opening the envelope, a few dried buttercups fell on him, and the sweet scent of roses and strawberries wafted through the room.

_Darling,  
I have bad news for you. I've talked to some people (decently, of course!) and one of them mentioned that they saw your husband with several different girls - and boys - that you can buy on the corner in front of the Great Bridge, you know who I'm talking about. At least they’ve never seen him with one of them twice.  
I didn’t know how to respond to such information, and I’m not sure how to help you.  
Triss_

Jaskier was devastated. He thought that Geralt was maybe just ashamed or didn't know what to do in bed. Not that he would rather visit whores than his own husband. This made him truly jealous. He locked himself in the bedroom, and was unwilling to come out, no matter what!

Late in the evening, he heard a slightly confused knock on the door. He pulled a pillow over his head and Geralt left after a while. He probably went to sleep on a chaise-longue in the living room. Good for him. With any luck, his back was going to hurt afterwards.

But in the morning Jaskier had to come out. He didn’t have to go to work, because Geralt was the one with a decent job in their relationship - but this meant that Jaskier had to take care of the household instead. And it wasn't quite fun. For the most part, the division of orders and controlling the budget took him all morning. And he was lucky that his parents, along with a large dowry and one of their beautiful houses, left him some servants that Jaskier could rely on. He hurried so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone for longer than necessary, but when he once again took refuge in his room, he couldn't entertain himself. The pen slid in his sweaty palm, the letters bouncing in front of his eyes. What shall he do?!

It was very late when Geralt finally arrived. The servants were already asleep, and Jaskier was sitting in the kitchen by the warm fireplace, where the coal was slowly burning out. That's why he heard Geralt coming. He wanted to get up and avoid him, but Geralt was already entering the kitchen, and a single look at him made Jaskier stop breathing.

Geralt was completely covered in blood.

"Something entered the canals in the docks," he muttered. "Crab spider, and a well-fed one. I'd rather catch him alive, but sometimes it doesn't work out any other way. Would you wash me, please? ”

Jaskier was ready to nod, but then stopped. He was mad at him, after all. So he folded his arms and gazed out the window.

Geralt studied him for a long moment, then decided to do it alone. He threw off his bloodied armor and fetched a large bathtub which he filled several buckets of water, offering Jaskier an incredibly attractive play of muscles. That wasn’t fair! Then he heated the water with one of his mysterious magic signs, climbed into the tub and splashed all over the brick floor of their kitchen. He washed himself in silence for a while.

"I don't know why you're mad at me, but stop it, it is your marital duty to wash my back," he told Jaskier.

"No," Jaskier murmured.

Geralt turned to him and brushed his wet hair from his face. "Where's the problem?" He reached for him, as if trying to pull Jaskier roughly to himself, but at the last moment he just gently grabbed his fingertips.

"Someone saw you," Jaskier said. "Why? Don't you like me in the end? Do you regret your decision?”

Geralt frowned, then clearly realized what was going on. He blushed.

"… the reason…" he tried to say something.

"You promised, for better or for worse!" Jaskier said. "So tell me what's going on!"

"I can't talk about things like that," Geralt growled.

"What things?" Jaskier asked, a little softer now. "About your feelings?"

“Yeah…”

"Okay, so from the beginning: why did you feel the need to look for relief in someone else’s company so soon after our wedding?" Jaskier asked cautiously, approaching his husband and rinsing his hair with a small mug.

"I’m not really good at that, you know," Geralt said slowly, every word feeling heavy on his tongue. "I mean… they raised me as a witcher… I can fight, I can kill. But when it comes to, "he swallowed, and paused, "tenderness, I’m lost. I didn’t want to hurt you. And those girls were used to me. They were not afraid to tell me if I overdid it with my strength."

Jaskier was silent. In retrospect, he realized the contrast between Geralt's movements as he practiced with wooden swords in their garden and his movements whenever he was near Jaskier. He acted as if Jaskier was some incredibly valuable porcelain doll. His huge palms gripped the small utensils and ornate door handles nervously, never holding him tightly in his arms while sleeping in their bed, only a hand was resting on his back reassuring him of his presence.

Tears sprang from Jaskier's eyes. "You're such an idiot, Geralt." He took his hand gently with one hand and with the other, he grabbed a tin of chamomile oil. "I'll show you how to be gentle, would you like that?”


End file.
